


Public Enemies

by serephent



Series: Public Enemies [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types, Superman/Batman (Comics)
Genre: Alfred is a National Treasure, Anal Sex, Banter, Blow Jobs, Bruce loves his kids, Canon Compliant, Clark is the cool dad, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Impending Apocalypse, Krypto is a good guard dog no matter what Bruce says, Kryptonite, Lex must think monologuing is required to maintain membership in bad guys inc, M/M, No one deadpans like Bruce, Rimming, So a typical Tuesday, Still idiots in love, SuperBat, Switching, We're all here for the porn anyway, World's Finest, Would it kill them to use their words?, all the feels, modern age, not the kinky kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:27:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22274041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serephent/pseuds/serephent
Summary: A kryptonite asteroid is headed straight for Earth. When U.S. President Lex Luthor's efforts fail to stop it, he decides Superman is responsible and puts a billion-dollar bounty on his head for crimes against humanity. Now Superman and Batman must fight friend and foe alike as they race against the clock to save the planet.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Series: Public Enemies [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1603258
Comments: 28
Kudos: 119





	1. Early Warning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a superbat reimagining of Public Enemies. Based on SUPERMAN/BATMAN #1-6 (2003), and the animated movie (2009) on the same name. I tried to stay close to the source, while plugging plot holes, adding in "realism" and making it so Clark & Bruce didn't behave like overly emotional children.
> 
>  **Betas:** The amazing [Cattyk8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cattyk8) and [Holdt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holdt), who both possess the patience of saints! I can't thank them enough for all the time and effort spent helping mold this fic into what it is now.
> 
>  **Special thanks to:** [o0Aisha0o](https://archiveofourown.org/users/o0Aisha0o) If not for your constant encouragement, feedback and cheerleading, I'd never have taken the plunge to finally write my own fic. You're the best Evil Twin anyone could ask for.

**Chapter One**   
_Early Warning_

Batman hunches down in an empty grave, one of many recently dug up in the Gotham cemetery. He seals the evidence bag and lifts his head at the near imperceptible change in the air that signals he’s not alone.

“You could’ve called,” he huffs.

“It was faster to fly in.” Superman grins, cape flapping behind him. He probably gets more enjoyment than he should from aggravating his partner by just appearing, not that Batman really has room to complain, given his own proclivity for it. Pot. Kettle. But he also enjoys _not_ having kryptonite shoved down his throat, so he’ll never admit it.

“Faster than a phone call,” Batman says, one side of his mouth twitching up. “We’ll have to put that to a test sometime.”

Clark barely refrains from rolling his eyes at the arched brow he knows is hidden by the cowl, and holds a hand out. “You’re looking for John Corben.”

“Metallo?”

Superman nods. “His alloy body is breaking down.”

“That accounts for the metal filings, but not why he’s digging up these graves.”

“I just came from a run in with him at S.T.A.R. Labs. Doctor Gherhard gave me access to his file. Seems he had once been held there for observation. Corben wasn’t always a brain in a kryptonite-powered body."

"Hnn."

"From what he said to me, I don’t think he was a willing test subject. The file said he started out as a thief here in Gotham, and his original body was buried in this cemetery.”

“And now he wants it back.” From Batman, it isn’t a question, but a statement. His mouth is a grim line.

“I think he was only ever after it,” Clark says. “But dug up additional ones to try and conceal the truth, or at least slow you down so he could finish before you figured it out.”

“Which one of us is the detective again?”

“It’s called investigative journalism, Batman,” Superman replies with an ‘aw shucks’ scuff of his foot. He ignores the unimpressed look he gets and returns to the subject at hand. “Bruce, there’s something else you need to know about Corben. He was in town the night—”

The ground vibrates with a low rumble, and then Metallo bursts free with a casket over his shoulder. At the sight of the World’s Finest, he calls out, “Wait! This belongs to me. I haven’t done anything wrong! Just walk away.”

.

Batman dismisses the plea as nothing but lies meant to distract, and tosses out three batarangs with practiced ease. The next moment finds him propelled across the cemetery via the cybernetic fingers around his throat. His gauntleted hands calmly pry at the digits cutting off his ability to breathe. He isn’t in trouble. Not yet.

“Let him go,” Superman commands, his eyes blazing, and with a blast of heat vision, he slices through the arm lifting Batman into the air.

“My arm!” Metallo snarls. “The scientist who trapped my brain in this machine feared you, Superman. He knew you were some kind of alien pretending to be human. He created me—stole my humanity from me—to get rid of you.” 

Metallo lifts his other arm, gun in hand. “A gift from the bottom of my kryptonite heart,” he spits as he pulls the trigger.

The kryptonite bullet hits Superman square in the chest, the force of the impact sending him reeling backwards and into the empty grave behind him.

Bruce’s heart catches in his throat. Clark always relies on his strength, without a thought for how vulnerable he can be when his enemies come prepared for him. Bulletproof doesn’t mean a thing when that bullet is made of kryptonite. Bruce launches through the air, twisting easily as he attaches plastique to the villain without interrupting his momentum, and lands next to Clark. 

“I just have to be fast enough,” he mutters, tools already in his hands.

Superman winces when Batman’s instrument probes at the bullet hole in his chest, the Kryptonian weave of his uniform having pulled back to provide unobstructed access. “Where’s the Flash when you need him?”

“Do me a favor and lose the sense of humor.”

“Do us both a favor and buy one.”

He snorts, but his attention doesn’t waiver. “I’ve almost got it, just hold on.”

“B!” Superman calls out a warning too late as tons of fresh earth crashes down from above. He shifts, his broad shoulders keeping a pocket around the two, and blinks in the sudden glow, compliments of Batman's gauntlet.

“Metallo might still be up there, and you’re in no shape to fight him again. I’m sorry,” Bruce says, explosive in hand. “But we need to get out of here before we’re crushed, or run out of air, or both.”

.

“Do it,” Clark answers without hesitation or concern. He will always shield Bruce from harm in any way he possibly can, mostly over the other’s insistence that he didn’t need protection, as if Bruce wasn’t the human in the equation. 

A moment later, the explosion burns across his back. He ignores it and focuses on trying to keep his arms around Bruce in the rush of falling earth as they plunge into the sewer below.

Weakened by kryptonite, his grasp falters.

Struggling to his feet, Clark frantically searches the water. His chest constricts in panic when he lays eyes on Bruce’s unmoving form. Moving as swiftly as his injuries will allow, he hefts him from the water, lays him on his side, and with trembling fingers, checks for a pulse. “Come on, Bruce. It's _not_ ending here. I won’t let it.”

Batman gasps and coughs up the putrid water threatening to drown him. “You won’t be rid of me that easily,” he rasps out. Opening his eyes, he meets Clark’s gaze with a slight smile and places a gloved hand over his.

“What did I say about that sense of humor?” Clark asks, tracing a finger along the man’s proud jawline, before leaning down to capture his lips in a deep, loving kiss. He pours all the feeling he knows he's not supposed to voice at the moment into that kiss. He doesn’t want to stop; they are both alive and that is _everything_. Finally, grudgingly, he makes himself give up those lips.

Bruce immediately draws in a needed breath. “Idiot.”

“Right, sorry, breathing is important,” he replies sheepishly, heat blooming in his cheeks. 

Struggling to his feet, Batman holds out his hand and helps Superman up. “And I thought _I_ was supposed to rescue _you_.”

“I’m fairly sure we rescued one another.”

Batman lets the sappy comment go without replying, but he doesn’t argue either. He wedges his shoulder under Clark’s arm, taking as much of the man’s weight as possible. “We need to get to the cave. Just stay awake until then, okay? I’d really rather not have to carry you.”

“What, no Batraft in your utility belt?”

“No. I had to make room for the shark-repellent Batspray,” Bruce deadpans.

Leaning against him, Clark frowns and wonders aloud, “Should we have just let Metallo go?”

“He’s a criminal, Clark.”

“I know, I know, but he said he didn’t want to hurt anyone.” Clark stumbles, only to be caught by Bruce. Grunting, he shifts his weight.

With a pointed look at the bullet wound, he counters, “Because, obviously, he meant that.” 

“I…yeah, okay, point taken,” Clark relents, his head lolling forward. “Hey, I was thinking, whatever happened to Magpie?”

“She died.”

“Why is it the good villains never die?” 

“Clark, what the hell are ‘good’ villains?” Bruce slants a worried glance, before adjusting his weight against him.

"Hold on, we're almost—"

“Halt,” Alfred orders, holding a shotgun leveled at them with steady hands.

Clark looks at him wide eyed, and then turns to Bruce. “He's guarding the cave with a shotgun? You couldn't at least give him one of Mister Freeze's?”

“Says the man who uses a dog with a cape to protect his fortress.”

“I assure you, Master Clark, there are many security features in place. I am merely ensuring that Master Bruce was the one deactivating them, and that he was doing so of his own volition.”

“Right, of course. I never doubted you.” He feels the blush reach the tips of his ears. The last thing he wants to do is offend; he shudders to think of Alfred withholding cookies or, worse, pancakes, to show his displeasure. Making his way into the underground lair, Clark mutters under his breath, “There’s nothing wrong with Krypto. Not like anyone could even get there to begin with.”

.

“Easy,” Bruce chides, as he helps him lie down on the metal exam table. “That kryptonite has been in you for far too long.”

“Indeed, sir,” Alfred agrees, the lead box containing the special surgical instruments already in hand.

“I hate that we actually need those,” Clark grouses through clenched teeth.

“We wouldn’t if you would stop going against enemies you _know_ have kryptonite.”

“What was I supposed to do, Bruce?” he snaps. “Pretend he wasn’t about to strangle you?”

“Maybe.”

“As that would undoubtedly have improved the situation,” Alfred remarks dryly.

Bruce removes the cowl and runs fingers through sweat slicked hair. “Have I mentioned yet today how infuriating you can be?”

“This from a man who’s stubborn as one of Ma’s mules?”

"You're sleeping on the couch," Bruce growls without heat.

Leaving Clark in Alfred's trusted hands, he heads to the locker room, where he strips out of his suit with some winces and grunts. Looking himself over, he sighs, having no doubt the bruises will be even more impressive come morning. After ensuring nothing is fractured, he changes into sweats and a t-shirt. 

Bruce makes his way over to the Batcomputer, and taking a seat, he acknowledges his youngest. “Tim.”

“Supes’ run in with Metallo made the news, so I did a little digging. Really, I only expected to find security footage,” Tim says before he grabs his life-giving mug of caffeine, and takes a gulp.

“I take it you found more?”

“Yeah...You’re going to want to see this.”

Superman’s eyebrows furrow at the uptick in Bruce’s heart rate. “What is it?” With the bullet removed, Clark makes his way from the medical bay to the bank of monitors. It only takes a second to spot the decrypted S.T.A.R. Lab files on Metallo. Blanching, he says, "I tried—"

“How could you not tell me?” Bruce demands. 

“I was _trying_ to tell you.”

“You know what their murder going unsolved did to Gotham! To me!”

Throwing his hands up in frustration he replies, “I’m not even sure that report is reliable!”

“That’s for me to determine!” Bruce begins ticking off points on his fingers. “Fact: before John Corben became Metallo, he was a petty thief. Fact: he was in Gotham the night my parents were killed. Fact: he carried the same caliber handgun as their murderer.”

“Why hasn’t Corben’s name come up before?” Clark challenges.

Because, of _course_ he doesn’t see. This is the Big Blue Boy Scout, perhaps the only man on the planet without a deceitful or malicious bone in his body. “Gotham is corrupt, Clark. Half the police force is on the take. Factor in the slew of disasters the city has seen, plus some simple human incompetence, and it’s not a stretch to see how the information could have been misplaced.”

Grim realization shines in Clark’s eyes. Bruce is right. Gotham's not Metropolis. The same rules don’t apply.

The muscles in his jaw twitch. “If I had uncovered something that would fundamentally change your life, wouldn’t you want me to tell you?”

“Damnit, Bruce, I would _never_ keep something like this a secret. You know that,” he pleads, placing a hand on his and squeezing.

He does. He’s not being fair, and he knows it. Their death is a blind spot. A big red button guaranteed to elicit an emotional response and render Batman into a small boy in a dark alley. He barely admits it to himself. And never out loud. Not to Clark. Not even to Alfred. Neither of them would demand he give it a voice, and they both probably know already, but that's a truth for a different night.

Without moving his hand from where it rests under Clark’s, he shifts his focus to Tim. “Can you tell when the file was made and on what terminal?”

Tim straightens up from where he’s been staring into his coffee cup as if the secrets of the universe might be found within. “I—no, actually,” he replies with a surprised scowl, nimble fingers flying over the keys.

.

“Then it was planted?” Clark tries to not sound hopeful. He knows that to the innocent, the fact that people like the Waynes can be murdered in the street means no one is safe. To criminals, that it goes unsolved tells them it’s possible to get away with murder. Even so, he doesn’t want _this_ to be the answer, because without a doubt, Bruce will never forgive himself for missing it.

“Not necessarily. Tim, work with Oracle. I need to know when, and how, S.T.A.R. Labs learned-”

A bright flash and an echoing boom fill the cave. Clark’s chest constricts with fear. Anything could be concealed by the blinding light. So he immediately places himself between the unknown threat and the very vulnerable humans he cherishes.

Straightening up, a gray-haired Superman takes a perfunctory glance around the cave, lingering on Clark for a moment before stopping on Bruce. “I made it. There’s still time.” 

Clark resists the urge to gawk at his double; he's Superman, after all, and Superman doesn't stare at people with his mouth hanging open. Even when those people are alternate, older versions of himself. “I don’t know what kind of game you think you’re playing at—”

“This is no game, Clark. I am you, years from now." 

"Looking and sounding identical, even knowing my identity, doesn’t prove you aren’t lying, that this isn't some trick." He begins to doubt the wisdom of antagonizing the other Superman when his alternate's eyes turn red. Clark manages to get his hands up just before the twin beams strike him, and he’s forced to give ground under the onslaught. 

“Tim, get Alfred and go,” Bruce orders, pleased to see his Robin immediately move toward the exit.

“I have no reason to lie.” With a flick of his gaze towards the Batcomputer, he asks, “Bruce, have you finished yet?”

Bruce scowls when the results of the analysis he initiated after the Boom Tube closed flash on screen. “He’s telling the truth. Both voice and x-ray comparisons are a perfect match to yours, Clark.”

“I’ve come to stop you. I know you’ll think you’re doing the right thing, but you’ll be _wrong_. Lois, Alfred, the kids… Rao, even Ma and Bruce.” He gives what looks like an apologetic smile. "So, I'm afraid I'm going to have to kill you."

Clark knows he should stand down, remain calm, and try to figure out what will go wrong. There will be time for questions later. What matters right now is preventing his alternate from getting to Bruce. He darts forward and punches, fist connecting soundly against a jaw that might as well be marble.

Taking the offensive, Superman drives his shoulder into Clark’s stomach before dropping down and sweeping Clark’s feet out from under him in a combination clearly taken from Bruce’s fighting tactics. “You’ll only wind up _killing them all, and you will be left all _alone_.”_

__

“I. Don’t. Kill.” Clark jabs with each word before he lifts into the air, intending to move the fight away from the cave.

__

“That ridiculous moral code,” Superman snarls, grabs Clark by the ankle, and flings him like a ragdoll into the glass display case that holds Jason's bloodstained Robin suit, shattering it. 

__

Bruce moves for the vault, but only makes it a few steps before Superman grabs ahold and tosses him hurtling through the air, where he crashes into the side of the Batmobile with a resounding thud.

__

Stalking forward, Superman rages. "You can't stop me! I _will_ save them. There's still time to end it before it begins."

__

Clark staggers back to his feet, certain his double will kill Bruce if he doesn’t stop him. Going toe-to-toe isn’t working. He needs another way, and quickly. Glancing around, the dossier on Metallo that’s still displayed on one of the monitors catches his eye. He snorts at the irony.

__

Superman lifts the Batmobile over his head as if it were a toy. Looking up at him, Bruce catches and holds his gaze, asking gently, "How bad it must have been for you, Clark, that you see murder as the only way?"

__

“Nobody’s called me that for years,” Superman says with a start.

__

Gritting his teeth, Clark picks up the bullet, so recently embedded in his chest, from the lead lined box. Seeing as the piece failed to kill him, he’s confident using it on his alternate won’t be fatal. Already feeling the weakness from the kryptonite in his hand, Clark’s not certain he can throw the piece with enough force to injure Superman. Unwilling to take the chance, he instead grabs Alfred’s shotgun, chambering the bullet. 

__

Clark aims and then pulls the trigger. 

__

Superman drops the Batmobile to the side, the resulting bang echoing around the cave, and falls to his knees. He reaches towards Bruce with a trembling hand, whispering, "I… out of time… Bruce, don’t make the same mistake…Beware…Lex… ” And then fades away.

__

.

__

"Pa always said 'get the right tool for the right job'." Clark grins. “I guess it’s a good thing Alfred protects the cave with a shotgun and not a spare Mister Freeze ray after all,” he muses, watching as Bruce picks up the bullet, before he gets up, and quickly moves away, presumably placing the kryptonite back in the box before it can further weaken him. 

__

"Remind me to send Ma Kent some flowers to thank her for the shooting lessons." Returning to where his precious car sits, Bruce pinches his lips together and furrows his brows, surveying the damage.

__

“I can probably pop those dents back out.” 

__

“It’s not your fault.”

__

“I know,” Clark replies and absently rubs the back of his neck. It’s really _not_ his fault, but nonetheless he finds himself irrationally feeling like it is. 

__

Catching the nervous tick out of the corner of his eye, he turns. “Clark.”

__

“I know. Really, I do.”

__

“It isn’t your fault.” Bruce is the picture of serenity when he adds, “This time.”

__

“Oh, come on!” Clark huffs. “Destroy the Batmobile _once_ and you never live it down.” 

__

“Indeed. Master Richard has yet to stop being reminded of the time he did. I recommend selective hearing.”

__

Clark about jumps out of his skin at Alfred’s appearance. There’s no doubt where Bruce gets it from. He should be used to it by now, but no. Damn ninja butler.

__

"What was that all about?"

__

Bruce sighs. "A warning from a possible future version of Superman."

__

"Regarding?"

__

"A decision yet to be made."

__

"And it seems, a wonderfully insightful one at that," Alfred quips.

__

"Right?" Clark gives a little laugh. "Why can't it ever be 'don't do X because Y will happen, you idiots’?"

__

Bruce snorts. "Where's the challenge in that?"

__

"Where indeed, Master Bruce."

__

“I’ll talk to Oracle and get going on an algorithm.”

__

“Bruce," Clark says with a long-suffering sigh. Bruce really is far too stubborn for his own good, especially when it comes to admitting injury, resting, or anything else that might paint him as actually being _human_. If he asks, Bruce will insist he’s fine and end up in the cave for hours yet.

__

Clark doesn’t ask.

__

.

__

“God damnit, Kal!” Bruce howls in indignation as the world comes back into focus, the cave having been replaced with the master bathroom.

__

Unrepentant, Clark says, "You've had your neck almost snapped, been drowned, and narrowly missed being turned into a Batcake by your own car."

__

Bruce gives an exasperated groan and rolls his eyes. "Clark, _never_ say that again." 

__

Other than flashing a wide grin, Clark continues unphased. "Surely that's enough for the day, even for you."

__

"Says the man who got his ass kicked twice, and was shot with a kryptonite bullet."

__

"Yes, I did," he agrees affably. "Which is why I'm going to take a shower and go to bed before anything _else_ happens." 

__

“Fine,” he concedes, and pulls his shirt off, tossing it aside; sweats, boxers and socks follow. Moving to the shower, he turns the taps until he’s satisfied with the temperature, before stepping into the spray.

__

.

__

Clark licks his lips at the way water runs down Bruce’s body in rivulets, drinking in the sight as a man in the desert seeing an oasis. 

__

“Enjoying the view?”

__

“You’re such a bastard.”

__

“I really am,” Bruce agrees and lunges forward, taking Clark’s mouth in a searing kiss, tongue delving between parted lips, tasting, memorizing, demanding.

__

Desire heats Clark’s face, rushing down his neck, and through his chest to finally pool in his center. He noses at Bruce's jaw, breathing in the scent of him.

__

Sewer water.

__

Clark feels his face heat up again, and it’s not from desire. He really should have thought of that. Eyes narrowing, he shoots his best impression of the Batglare at Bruce, who is pressing his lips together in a rather obvious bid to keep from laughing. 

__

“Shut up.” After pointedly grabbing the bodywash, he sets about running his hands over the rises and dips of Bruce’s tightly corded muscles, while at the same time, checking for injuries.

__

.

__

Unwilling to just stand there being soaped up, Bruce returns the favor, getting his hands on every inch of skin he can reach. Enjoying feeling the heat that always radiates from Clark. He brushes callused fingertips over that smooth chest. It’s perfect. No mark remains to tell the tale of the bullet that was dug out of it only hours before. 

__

Bruce doesn’t say a word about how damned _relieved_ he is. And certainly not about how his heart had stopped beating for a moment at the sight of blood spreading across that blue clad chest while he stood frozen, and watched as Clark tumbled back into the empty grave. 

__

He’d never recover if he lost Clark, and he knows it. Of course, he doesn’t say _that_ either. 

__

.

__

Clark curls his fingers around Bruce’s hand, raises it to his mouth, and plants a kiss there. His chest swells with love, understanding exactly what isn’t being said, but is nonetheless being clearly expressed. In that instant, desire returns full force, lighting Clark’s nerves on fire with _need_. 

__

Making use of his superspeed, he smoothly moves behind Bruce and draws him to his chest in the span of a heartbeat. Clark knows he must maintain control, lest his lust-addled brain forgets the point of spiriting Bruce upstairs in the first place was to _prevent_ him from overtaxing himself. This should allow him to resist the urge to just shove Bruce against the wall and fuck him senseless.

__

_Hopefully_. 

__

.

__

Years of practice make Bruce instinctively tense, preparing for a fight with no conscious input from him. A second later his brain catches up. He doesn't actually _want_ to fight, but simply submitting isn't an option either. And then Clark's arm is pinning his body against that immovable chest, holding him tight, with no possibility of escape.

__

Clark nudges his leg between Bruce’s until he’s resting securely against his thigh, before taking his cock in hand, swiping his thumb over the head, and giving it a lazy stroke. Clark kisses along his neck, first tasting and then nipping lightly. Smiles into it knowingly when Bruce's cock twitches and swells in response.

__

Bruce turns his head, pressing into an open-mouthed and greedy kiss. His hips rock as Clark slowly starts to work his erection. Clark's grip is tight and just this side of painful. Exactly how he likes it. God, he's so _hard_ already. It would be embarrassing, if he couldn’t feel Clark’s thick erection digging into his thigh, assuring him he’s not alone in his desire. Deep breath in and out through the nose.

__

.

__

"That's it," Clark whispers against Bruce’s mouth, before trailing his lips back down the chiseled jaw, where he latches onto his neck. Sucking and licking, trying to leave as many marks as he can. He stops pumping Bruce’s cock to teasingly swirl beads of precome against the slit, as he continues to devour him with his eyes.

__

Bruce rocks his hips, trying to get more friction. It does him no good. A low moan, equal parts frustration and arousal, sounds at the back of his throat when Clark presses his thigh up in response, creating pressure against his balls. Bruce drops his head back against Clark’s shoulder, exposing more of his neck.

__

“Fuck. Kal,” he breathes.

__

Clark keeps firmly stroking Bruce’s cock in what he knows is a maddeningly even pace. Can hear his heartbeat ratcheting up. Feel it under his skin with his lips and fingertips. His lips worry against one side of the hollow of Bruce’s throat, then down and over the collarbone, taking an extra moment to lick along a scar, before moving back up to his ear, where he whispers, "You close, baby?"

__

.

__

"Yes." Bruce growls, thighs tensing as Clark sucks on a particularly sensitive spot, causing pleasure to course through his body. He almost screams when Clark’s fingers tighten around the base of his cock and the bastard starts to _vibrate_ his hand. 

__

"Let go," Clark demands.

__

And he _does_. 

__

Coming in thick ropes, the fire in Bruce's belly is an all consuming inferno as Clark strokes him through his orgasm, right up to, and just a touch beyond the point of near-painful oversensitivity.

__

The moment his head clears, and before Clark can do anything to stop him, Bruce drops to his knees. He pauses for but a moment to admire Clark's cock, heavy and wet, as it throbs between his legs. Then, taking Clark's erection in hand, he strokes the length and runs his tongue along the underside. 

__

Leaning forward, Bruce swipes his tongue over the slit. Laps up the precome. He sucks the head into his mouth, relishing the weight of Clark's cock on his tongue, before pulling off with an obscene sounding pop. "You like that?" he husks.

__

Clark shudders. " _Yes_ , Rao, yes." 

__

Bruce kisses down his turgid length before nuzzling forward to suck at his balls, rolling them gently in one hand while working his shaft with the other. Moving back, he traces along the veins of Clark’s cock. He teases the slit, watching Clark watch him through heavy-lidded eyes as he engulfs the head once more. Sucking unashamedly, hungrily, he draws Clark out and swallows him again in a steady rhythm. 

__

.

__

With a wanton moan, Clark arches his hips, watching his cock slide, inch by inch, into Bruce's mouth. It's hot, warm, and _perfect_. 

__

" _Fuck_ , Bruce, yes, just like that," he rasps, tightening his fingers in his soft black hair. 

__

Seeing Bruce like this—the trust he's placing in his hands, while leaving himself completely vulnerable—never fails to leave him feeling humbled. The act itself speaking as loudly as the words Bruce doesn't say.

__

Bruce’s nose brushes up against Clark's pelvis as he takes his full length into his mouth, all the way down to the hilt. Bruce sucks his cock with gusto. Mouth stretched wide, he hums, that little bit of vibration is all it takes to send Clark careening over the edge.

__

The heat at Clark’s center coils tightly and his thighs tense. His eyes lock with Bruce's, the sight of him working him so insistently sends electricity shooting straight down his spine to his cock. He’s already wound tight, and the feeling of that sinful mouth on his cock is just too much, leaving Clark no choice but to give himself over to it.

__

"Bruce." He cries out and grips his hair, holding his head still. Cock pulsing hard, he comes in hot spurts down Bruce's throat. He pushes forward, riding out his orgasm. 

__

Clark forces his eyes open to appreciate how much Bruce loves making him come apart for him. Gripping Clark’s hips, he holds tight, and swallows, milking him through the aftershock. Bruce licks his cock clean before rising to his feet with a self-satisfied smile.

__

Clark tugs him in for a kiss, and after making sure the water has rinsed them both, turns the tap off.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a 3 year break from writing. Not going to lie, at the start it felt like walking uphill in quicksand. That said, I'm so glad I didn't throw my hands up and give up. Writing again feels wonderful!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! All comments and kudos are appreciated <3


	2. State of Siege

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Betas:** The amazing [Cattyk8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cattyk8) and [Holdt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holdt), who both possess the patience of saints! I can't thank them enough for all the time and effort spent helping mold this fic into what it is now.

**Chapter Two**  
_State of Siege_

"...there are so many possibilities. Without more parameters, I just don't see a way." 

"Hi, Babs," Clark says to the familiar voice of Oracle as he walks up to the terminal, still wearing his Batman logo pajamas, a Christmas gift from the kids. 

Bruce frowns at the monitor. 

"Hey, Clark. So, psycho future you, huh?" 

He huffs. "I have a hard time believing _any_ version of me could be a murderer." 

"It’s not murder if you don’t do it on purpose, and he didn't kill either of you.” 

"Not for lack of trying," Bruce assures her. 

Tim comes skidding into the cave, eyes wide. “Turn on the news!”

“What channel?”

"Any of them,” Oracle replies as she calls up the news feed for them.

Clark looks over at Bruce. The last time that was the answer, the Twin Towers were on fire and America was under attack. He presses his lips together as the image of President Lex Luthor fills the screen.

_“There is an irradiated asteroid on a collision course with Earth. This is something that, so far, cannot be halted, derailed, or even slowed. It is as though it has a single-minded purpose…to eradicate mankind. The asteroid is not some random phenomenon. It’s a fragment of the planet Krypton, birth world of Superman. We can only conclude it’s coming here because he is here.”_

"A occurred, then B occurred, therefore A caused B." Tim rolls his eyes. "Did they stop teaching logical fallacies in school?"

"Unfortunately, Master Timothy, a great deal of the population will accept any information given by the government, especially from the White House, as truth."

“Correlation does not equal causation,” Clark mutters. “Please tell me this is another one of his mad schemes? Like that staged terrorist attack he used to get close enough to try and ‘hire me’ for his personal service.”

“Unfortunately, it’s not.” Bruce’s fingers fly over the keys. Images of the asteroid from WayneTech satellite tracking appear on screen as he works, confirming the origin, trajectory and mass.

_“Now, when I was a younger man, I spoke out quite openly about his alien nature. As I matured, I came to see him as others do. As our friend. He is not. He is an alien. A curse upon this planet.”_

“What total bullshit,” Oracle interjects. “And since when does Lex Luthor speak for the entire planet?”

"It would seem the man is determined to prove the adage that absolute power corrupts absolutely," Alfred observes dryly. "And as he attempts to use Superman as his exemplar, it becomes clearer it is he who has become tainted by his own increased influence."

_“And so, by the power invested in me by you the people…I am offering a one billion-dollar reward for the individual, or individuals, who bring Superman to the federal authorities here in Washington, so he can face charges of crimes against humanity.”_

Tim whistles in appreciation. “With that kind of money, almost every meta alive is going to be after you, Clark.”

“Because he knows the military would be useless, and I’m sure using them wouldn’t poll very well. He’s got a reelection campaign to think of, after all,” Oracle snarks.

“Let them come. I’m not going to back down. Not this time. He’s gone too far.” Clark frowns and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m tired of Luthor’s influence and money allowing him to trample the law and escape. He thinks his wealth gives him the right to work the system with reckless disregard.”

"Alfred, can you work with Lucius to make sure our properties are secure and our employees safe?" Bruce asks, pinching the bridge of his nose. "The world ending never brings out the good in people. Especially in Gotham." 

"Certainly, Master Bruce."

“Tim,” he says, "I need you to handle Wayne Enterprises assets. While U.S. markets should be closed for trading, there's no telling what the international ones will do. When you're done, please help Alfred."

"On it." He gives a nod to the pair before vanishing up the stairs with the butler.

Clark frowns. “How did no one notice it coming?”

“Because it _wasn’t there_ before.” One of the screens fills with satellite images as Bruce works. “The first sighting was between Pluto and Saturn.”

“I’m not an astronomer or anything,” Oracle says. “But I’m fairly sure that’s not how it works?”

“Wormhole is my best guess.”

“An asteroid from _Krypton_ just happens to end up in a wormhole that puts it on a collision course with Earth.” Clark presses his lips together in a tight line, his brows furrowing. “Because that’s not suspicious at all.” 

“Guys, look at this,” Oracle says, directing their attention to the screens and the video that pops up there. “Luthor used a Boom Tube to deploy nuclear warheads, but they detonated before impact.”

“Luthor,” Clark growls. 

“Do you really think he could manage _this_?” Oracle asks, the disbelief evident in her voice. 

“Hnh. Not alone. Maybe not at all.” Bruce’s gaze moves between the monitors. “Oracle, can you watch the satellites?”

“You got it.”

"And, not to imply you can't handle yourself, but are you safe there? I could zip over?" Clark gestures with his hand as he talks.

"You just made the flying motion, didn't you?"

"He did," Bruce confirms with a twitch of his lips.

Oracle laughs. "Thanks, Clark. I'm good. Be safe, you two. Oracle out.” 

.

Clark presses his lips together in a hard line and takes a deep breath in through his nose. “Why don’t I just fly up in a lead-lined suit and destroy it?”

“Even lead wouldn’t be enough to protect you from that much kryptonite,” Bruce replies.

Clark scrubs a hand over his face. “Then how the hell are we supposed to stop it?”

“Hiro Okamura.”

“Toyman?” he asks in disbelief. 

“Yes. After that little run in with Metallo, I’ve been reviewing Corben's file, and Toyman is part of it. Thankfully, or he might not have immediately come to mind.”

“He’s just a kid.”

“With a 210 I.Q. and a thing for robots.”

Clark looks back at the monitor. “You think a robot can take it down?” 

“I think it’s our best shot right now, and if it can, it will be one of Hiro’s that does it.” 

“And you don’t have anything in R&D at WayneTech that could do it?”

“Not that’s progressed enough on the development side to be of use in time, but hopefully we can speed up the process of dealing with the kryptonite radiation that will remain after destroying the asteroid.” 

"And if you can't?"

"How do you feel about a vacation to Antarctica," Bruce says before resuming typing. “I sent an encrypted message to Toyman.”

“Wouldn’t the direct approach be warranted?” Clark motions at the asteroid images. “Looming planetary destruction and all.”

“Lex broke who knows how many laws and treaties with that little stunt, which he then followed up by blaming _you_ for that impending destruction.”

“You’re right,” Clark concedes. “He’s just crazy enough to think stopping anyone else from ‘saving’ the planet is a good idea.”

“Thus, encryption.”

“And when the world isn’t destroyed, he’ll figure out a way to spin it so there aren't any consequences. _Again_.” Feeling his pocket vibrate, he yanks his cell phone out. 

.

Bruce can see Clark barely managing to restrain himself enough not to crush it. 

“What is it?” he asks at the smile the text elicits from Clark. 

“Lois will be doing a live interview with Luthor.”

Bruce knows that look. Nothing is ever simple. Even if you are the most powerful man in the world. Maybe especially then. And never with Lex Luthor. “You want to force his hand.” It isn’t a question.

“Yes. It's Luthor—the only thing bigger than his mouth is his ego, and that massive ego won’t let him _not_ lord this over me,” he says with certainty. “I’ll confront his claims with the nation, and the world, watching.” 

“And if this is the mistake we were warned not to make?”

“We can’t just do nothing!” Clark snaps, the pinch at the corners of his eyes showing he immediately regrets it. 

“Despite what Luthor says, no one thinks you’re responsible for this asteroid, Clark,” Bruce says gently as he gets up from his chair.

“What if, somehow, I _am_?”

Bruce puts a hand to the back of Clark's neck and draws him closer, forehead to forehead. “You’re _not_ ,” he assures him with absolute conviction. “But, let’s play devil’s advocate and say you were. Why not use any old asteroid? You’re strong enough to do it. Why would you want to destroy the earth with a chunk of kryptonite that would also take you with it?”

“Would it?" he asks with trepidation. "If we believe that Superman really was me from the future, then somehow I survive impact.”

“Alright," Bruce says after considering for a moment. Not that he truly needs to. It really doesn't matter how Clark reasons things out, only that he comes to a conclusion that keeps him at his side. "But we have to be smart about this. We’re going to attempt to topple the leader of the free world, while _not_ destroying the United States government in the process.”

Grinning from ear to ear, Clark nods in agreement and declares, “Piece of cake.”

_____________________________

Clark doesn't eat cake. Clark's a pie guy. What the hell does he know about cake? When Bruce thinks about it, that really does explain a lot.

Bruce gets nervous when it comes to Clark facing Luthor, as Kryptonite seems to inevitably end up in play, making it entirely feasible that he could truly suffer a fatal injury. Not that he'll come out and say that he’s worried, so instead he checks the comm. Again. 

“Comm-link check.”

“Yes, it’s still working,” Clark replies.

_“Given the precarious nature of the world, don’t you think the one-billion-dollar bounty on Superman is a little extreme?”_

_“The fate of this planet and the future of mankind are at stake, Lois. I think the American people are smart enough to decide if my actions border on the extreme.”_

_“You claim this asteroid was somehow orchestrated by Superman to eradicate mankind. Assuming this is true, what evidence do you have?”_

_“I believe when the people of the world see the irrefutable evidence, any action this administration takes will not only be justified, it will be applauded.”_

Listening to the live broadcast, he isn’t surprised when Lois’s question about the bounty being extreme is expertly sidestepped. Lex could be taking a page from Bruce Wayne's playbook with the way he seems to be answering questions without actually saying anything of value.

“Pa would say ‘some people can talk all day long and never say anything’ but this…”

“Smart man, your father.”

The broadcast stops as a result of the cascade failure of the electrical systems, thanks to a hypersonic scream from Silver Banshee. Radar hadn’t detected her, nor had Clark. Either too focused on the Presidential interview, or the kryptonite radiation is already beginning to affect him.

Batman catches a quick glimpse of Superman grappling with Banshee, and then grits his teeth, struggling to keep control as the Batwing starts coming apart around him. He has no choice but to angle it towards the grass of the Washington Monument and eject before the jet is reduced to a smoldering heap, with him in it. 

Narrowing his eyes, Batman watches as Mister Freeze, Captain Cold, Icicle, and Killer Frost approach him. All criminals who have essentially the same modus operandi, subzero thermals as a weapon. Figures. He hates the cold.

Batman drops into a low crouch and sends charged batarangs flying from his hand; they attach to Icicle and Killer Frost, dropping both to the ground thanks to the energy coursing through their bodies upon impact. He's never seen them work together before, but it’s unlikely to be the last new partnership to rise from the bounty. Money does make for strange bedfellows. 

He doesn’t have time to ruminate on possible alliances, though, as Captain Cold and Mister Freeze aim their subthermal guns at him and let loose, encasing his lower body in ice. 

“Bringing the heat, B.” Superman says in his ear, followed by a barrage of calculated heat vision blasts. His first shots free Batman; his next render them unconscious. 

Watching fire rain down from the skies, it’s not difficult to understand why so many people believe Superman a god. But fortunately for the world, Bruce knows it would never occur to him to act as one. Clark is many things, but above all, he’s an unstoppable force for good. 

.

Superman touches down with Banshee in his arms, having forced her high enough into the atmosphere to cause her to pass out from lack of oxygen. 

"What's that for?" he asks, watching as Batman removes a small device from his utility belt and places it on her throat. 

"In case she wakes up and tries to use her sonic scream, it will redirect back at her.”

Laying the limp form down on the ground with a nod, Superman asks, “You all right?” 

“That jet was _new_.”

“We’ll add it to the list of problems we have with the Presiden—” He’s thrown back by an energy blast to the chest from Mongul. Yet another attacker whose presence he'd failed to notice. Maybe the kryptonite from the asteroid really _is_ affecting him. 

Batman spins, but not fast enough to prevent Solomon Grundy from getting his massive hands around his neck. Clark is really getting tired of people trying to strangle Bruce...Oh with a side of drowning this time. He trusts Bruce, and seeing him get a breath in before being shoved underwater, he knows Batman can win this fight without him. It doesn't stop him from keeping an eye out for his partner, just in case. 

Superman trades blows with Mongul, who readily meets him toe-to-toe, but the lack of boasting as he does is disturbing. The megalomaniac is never so silent. In his ear, Lois tells him that Luthor is on the move. So much for being a piece of cake. Batman was right, which means the damn man will be near insufferable. 

“What is a bat other than a filthy rat with wings? And what better way to rid the world of rats than by drowning them?”

Grundy lifts Batman up by his neck with a vicious grin and a laugh. “That wasn’t too difficult. I’ll have to ask Joker what all the fuss was about.” He shifts his grip to peel the cowl back, only to end up with a face full of gas from the automated defense built in for just such an instance. 

As the chemicals return Grundy to his lumbering self, he's left too addled to realize his prize is very much alive. Acting before the confusion fades, Batman systematically strikes against pressure points, incapacitating the criminal in a matter of moments.

Clark lets his anger boil up and stops holding back. “You’re nothing better now than a thug employed by Luthor for money,” he spits. “And I’m sick. Of. Lex. Luthor!” He punctuates his words with a flurry of fists until Mongul is spread unconscious at his feet.

Leaving the warlord there, he returns to Bruce’s side, and gives him a once over with his x-ray vision, making sure his stubborn partner isn’t fighting with major injuries. 

"Kal," Bruce warns, very aware he's being scanned. "I'm fine."

"Oh, come on, B! You were just in a plane wreck, half frozen, strangled, and nearly drowned." He reaches over and takes Bruce's hand as he speaks. "I just _need_ to know you're okay."

Bruce turns his hand over. He curls his fingers and squeezes, just a little, before shifting away. "I told you I was."

"Because you would never dream of keeping the fact you're hurt to yourself," Clark quips.

"Exactly."

Superman rolls his eyes. “Did you notice anything odd about those two?”

"Grundy sounding like he had an Ivy League education?"

He nods. "And not one boast from Mongul."

“Mind control.” With the slightest hint of a smile, Batman deadpans, “They should probably ask for a refund.”

"What have I said about that so-called sense of humor?"

.

A hand of inky black reaches out and closes around Superman in a fist, causing him to cry out in pain. 

Bruce's chest constricts at the sight of Clark's struggles, and he has to fight the urge to try and grapple Clark free of the fingers, even knowing it would be useless. “This looks like Nightshade’s work,” he says, jaw clenching when he can’t find the meta.

“Solar energy…being…drained."

“We have to find the telepath or they'll just keep coming." 

Clark tips his head to the side in a clear indication he's using his super hearing before replying through clenched teeth, “Top…of…monument.”

Batman narrows his eyes, the suit enhancing his vision as he looks at the stone structure. “Grodd." He aims the grapple gun, then shoots the cord out, which wraps securely around the gorilla. He places the line in Superman’s hand and orders, “Pull.”

Even weakened as he is by the hard light, Superman easily yanks the beast down to meet his fist, knocking the primate unconscious with just that single blow. With her puppeteer gone, Nightshade stumbles into view, only to be rendered unconscious by a well-aimed batarang. The shadowed fist vanishes.

Free of the magical constraint he pauses for a deep breath. “How did they find us?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say the interview with Lane was designed as a trap to draw us to the White House. Luthor knew Lois wouldn’t try to stop you from speaking and that you wouldn't let the opportunity to do so slip by.”

“I don’t have to _see_ your face to know you’re giving me the ‘I told you so’ eyebrow,” Clark mutters.

Bruce lets his silence confirm that fact, before tapping his comm. “This is Batman. I need a pickup for Grodd and half a dozen other meta criminals.” 

“This is Wonder Woman. I’m hesitant to send anyone from the League in. I don’t want to inadvertently give Luthor, or anyone else, any ammunition to use against Superman.” 

“Understood. All hostiles are currently out cold. One of the police’s meta extraction teams should be sufficient. We’ll be fine on our own.”

“Yeah, about that.” Superman takes a step closer to Batman. “We have inbound.”

“Of course,” he growls and narrows his eyes as Captain Atom, Green Lantern, Black Lightning, Starfire, Major Force, Katana and Power Girl drop down from the sky.

Captain Atom steps forward. “Superman! I have a federal warrant for your arrest for crimes against humanity.” Shifting his gaze, he adds, “Batman. If you seek to prevent us from carrying out our orders in any way, you will be arrested for aiding and abetting a fugitive.” 

The declaration doesn’t surprise Batman in the least. Not with Amanda Waller as head of metahuman affairs. He already suspected her of pulling the puppet strings behind Grodd’s escape, and having the metas possessing powers that might harm Superman conveniently positioned nearby for him to control.

“I say we go with Plan B.”

“They could be expecting that.”

“Yes,” Batman agrees. “That’s what makes it unexpected.”

“Last chance,” Captain Atom warns. “Stand down!”

In response, Batman draws a batarang with grapple wire attached to it, and sends it flying, immobilizing Black Lightning with arms at his sides. He then leaps forward, spraying Major Force in the face with a carefully formulated concoction of his own design that makes the man immediately start wiping his eyes, and without missing a beat, lands a flying kick to Katana, knocking her out cold. 

Superman moves in tandem, blasting Captain Atom with his heat vision and using his ice breath to neutralize Green Lantern before sending Power Girl flying with a single blow. 

Starfire draws Superman's attention when she uses an energy blast against him. This proves ineffective, and he flies straight through it, easily blocking her punch, then proceeds to smack her down into Captain Atom, causing both to land in a heap. 

“Luthor wants you dead or alive, and I pick dead!” Major Force yells, clearly enraged, and releases a blast of energy from his clenched fists.

Dodging with much too close a margin for his taste, Bruce subvocalizes, “Now!” 

Superman responds by flying in a circle with his superspeed, creating a tornado that lifts the members of the team off their feet and sends them whirling. After ensuring that Batman has Katana secured, he reaches in and plucks Power Girl from the cyclone, before speeding away with her in his arms. 

_____________________________

In a small alleyway in downtown Tokyo, a portal opens up. Somehow the legion of pedestrians walking past the alley fail to notice when Batman emerges, followed by Katana. They earn perhaps a few glances, but this is, after all, the cosplay capital of the world, and people dressed as superheroes are nothing special here.

“Why does that always feel like being in a cement mixer?” Katana grumbles, rubbing at her head as she steps out onto the street. 

“I could tell you it gets better, but I’d be lying.”. 

“You need to know that my only priority right now is protecting Japan by seeing that asteroid destroyed.”

“That's our only goal. Clearing our names will be pointless if no one is left alive,” Batman points out dryly. “Have you contacted the boy?” 

“Yes, he has a lab at the foot of Mt. Fuji. He’s made amazing headway, but he wants to speak directly to you two.” 

“Then we’d better get going,” Superman replies, touching down next to the pair.

Power Girl inclines her head in greeting. “I know our intel is important, but I hate being around Luthor. He honestly believes being President means everyone will blindly follow his orders.” 

“Do you think we can trust any other members?”

“I think Black Lightning and Green Lantern can be, but you need to watch out for Major Force. He’s dangerous and highly unstable,” she says with a shudder.

“Hnn. Living proof of the ‘military intelligence’ oxymoron.”

“Superman! Batman! You are both under arrest,” Captain Atom’s voice booms out. 

“How’d they even get here so fast? Or know to come to Japan?” Power Girl wonders.

He must have trackers on you two," Batman says.

“Power Girl, Katana, if you step aside now, I will make sure the President knows.” 

Katana draws her blade and informs him calmly, “This is Japan, and you have no authority here.”

Power Girl lunges forward, punching Captain Atom in the jaw. “Arrest this!” 

“Traitor!” Major Force spits, and blasts her from the sky before turning his energy beam on Superman with obvious glee. 

Getting back up, Power Girl turns in fury toward Major Force, and launches herself at him, landing a solid punch to his chest. 

A little too solid.

Major Force cries out when the suit that contains his energy rips open from the blow. He staggers back, energy pouring from his chest.

“Lantern, get a containment bubble around him _now_! Starfire. Black Lightning. Draw off as much energy as you can,” Superman orders. 

“You don't give us orders.” Starfire folds her arms across her chest.. 

Superman replies with total certainty, “I do when people’s _lives are at stake_.”

Batman turns to Captain Atom. "He's not responsible for that asteroid."

“Look, that's not my call. The courts will decide on his innocence. " 

"Hnh. Courts? This is Luthor's vendetta."

"President Luthor ordered me to bring Superman in by any means necessary." 

"You know that in times of war, circumstances dictate action. Tokyo has one chance," he says. His tone is brisk. 

"I didn't realize we were at war, Batman."

"Countless men, women, and _children_ will die. Unless _you_ do something."

“Lantern!” Captain Atom calls out as he takes to the sky, headed for the containment field. “I need an opening. As soon as I’m in, seal it up.”

Superman immediately moves to his fellow hero's side and pleads, “Let me—”

“Turn yourself in." Captain Atom cuts him off. "Only guilty men run.” Then he steps into the ball of energy. 

.

Superman closes his eyes at the blinding flash of light that follows Captain Atom’s cry of pain. Opening them, he finds a crater with only the body of Major Force, the remaining team members lying unconscious around the outer edges.

“We have to get to Toyman.” 

Superman picks Batman up and flies them towards Mt. Fuji, taking the brief moment of privacy to nip at Bruce's jawline.

"Kal," he warns, but makes no effort to move away.

"No one can see us." He gives his most adorable set of puppy dog's eyes. "So, kiss me already."

.

Bruce cups the back of Clark's head before pulling him into a bruising kiss. Clark gasps, mouth falling open as Bruce grips his hair, holding him tight, his tongue delving into his mouth, tasting every part of it, filling it, _owning_ it, claiming it as if starving. With a groan, Clark gives himself over to the passion, until Bruce pulls away, just before he sets them down a few feet from the front entrance of the facility.

As if he hadn't just been kissing the life out of Clark, he notes dryly, “I hate flying that way.”

“I know,” Clark replies, unrepentant. 

“How do you feel with the asteroid getting so close?” Bruce asks, a faint edge of worry sharpening his voice.

“I’m alright. Just a little tired.”

“Liar,” Bruce growls without heat.

Clark smiles fondly at him. “Did I ever tell you the story about packing a picnic lunch and going with Pa to watch Smallville High play?”

“No.”

“They stunk. Never won a single game.”

Bruce quirks a brow upwards.

“I know. I felt the same way, so I asked Pa why we kept going if they were just going to lose again? He said, ‘Because there’s always hope, Clark.’ But it’s hard to keep hope with Lex as President.”

The sight of Clark looking so defeated is more than Bruce can take. Clark is his beacon in the night. Without his unending optimism, Bruce knows he would have lost himself to the darkness long ago. The sun that is Clark must shine, even if it means Bruce must cast himself as Icarus, doomed to eventually burn up for growing careless and soaring too close to that warmth. 

“Commissioner Gordon always says Gotham is a city of darkness, where the shadows are more alive than the people. To hear him talk, it might as well be one more level of hell. So, I asked him why he didn’t move? His reply: ‘Hope, Batman. We can’t lose sight of that.’ If a city like that can do it, then we can have—” he puts a hand on the House of El glyph on Superman’s chest “—hope.”

Clark covers Bruce's hand with his own and gives it a little squeeze. “Hope,” he repeats, and squares his shoulders as the doors to the lab slide open. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! All comments and kudos are appreciated <3


	3. Final Countdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Betas:** The amazing [Cattyk8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cattyk8) and [Holdt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holdt), who both possess the patience of saints! I can't thank them enough for all the time and effort spent helping mold this fic into what it is now.

**Chapter Three**   
_Final Countdown_

Alfred's voice comes across the comm. "I'm patching in the latest press update now." 

_“We’re getting reports now of a fire at the White House. The D.E.O. has inserted a squad of their metahuman tactical team. Presumably this has something to do with the still unconfirmed announcement that Superman is in federal custody.”_

Bruce growls. "We will rescue them, and then they're grounded for life."

"That might be a little excessive," Clark says.

"No part of 'watch Gotham' translates to 'attack the White House," he snaps.

"Come on, Bruce. You know they were just worried about us."

"Fine," he relents. "Thirty years."

Batman taps his comm. "Locations, Penny One?"

"They are all in the Oval Office, with the exception of Superboy. I have sent the coordinates."

With a nod, Superman says, "I'll get him, if you want to head to the Oval."

"I wouldn't recommend that, Superman. According to my readings, there is kryptonite present at that location."

Batman's jaw clenches. "I'll get Superboy."

"Going to radio silence. Penny One out."

"It looks like most of the guards are down," Superman remarks. He deposits Batman safely into the shadows and then flies away, trusting his partner will save their son without any assistance.

Hovering just outside the Oval Office, Superman blinks, switching to x-ray vision, and ascertains the positions of each young hero. Making use of superspeed, he gathers up the limp forms of Robin, Black Bat, and Nightwing, removing the trio to safety.

Superman steps into the room. "Luthor," he intones flatley.

“Superman." He turns towards the balcony."Come to turn yourself in?"

Suddenly, Clark's really glad they switched positions, as Luthor's lack of surprise confirms Bruce’s assertions that the press release was indeed orchestrated as bait. "Hardly."

“It's intolerable that an _alien_ can come to this planet and defy the orders of the President of the United States," he declares with his usual posturing. 

“When does it end, Luthor? When do you stop believing your own lies?” Superman feels his eyes starting to get warm and knows they're likely already glowing red. 

He doesn't mind. 

Luthor takes a step back. “You wouldn't dare lay a hand on me. Under the Homeland Security Act I—"

Undeterred, Superman stalks forward, grabs him by the throat, and lifts him up so his feet no longer touch the floor.

“If you take my life, you’ll be despised." 

"Worth it." Compared to the Kryptonian, Luthor is infinitely fragile, despite his size, and would snap as easily as a dry twig. Superman tightens his grasp.

Luthor's gaze darts around the room, stopping at the sight of Batman standing unmoving in the doorway, he gasps out, "I’m the President. _Do_ something!”

.

Batman watches with narrowed eyes. Once, he too had to face his own desire to kill. Gordon had talked him down. But then, even the craziest of Joker's plans don’t end with the fall of humanity. The same couldn't be said of Luthor's machinations. “Don't look at me to stop him." 

Luthor begins to sweat. “You’re bluffing.”

“No. I'm not."

"Killing me will demoralize the people," he hisses through clenched teeth. "They'll never trust you so-called heroes again."

"I'm Batman. Do you honestly believe I can't make it look like an accident?" 

“Do it then," he urges Superman. "Give me what I’ve always wanted—the end of you!”

“Is everyone safe?” 

“Yes, including the dog.”

Superman cocks his head just slightly when his comm activates and Alfred's voice sounds in his ear. "Toyman has sent word. It's ready."

At Batman's nod that he’s heard it too, Superman flings Luthor none-to-gently across the room and into a bookcase, where he ends up in a heap, as unmoving as the books scattered about.

Turning away, Clark moves to the door, picks Bruce up, and launches into the sky. He holds Bruce tight against his chest, where his naturally higher body temperature will ward off the chill as they fly back towards Japan.

"Would you really have let me do it?"

"I knew you wouldn't. You're not a killer, Clark."

His judgment isn’t the clearest when it comes to the man, but it’s not so clouded that Clark doesn’t recognize that. "Sometimes I wish I was."

"A feeling I'm all too familiar with, especially when it comes to Lex Luthor," Bruce replies. "It took a year to clear my name and reputation after he framed me for murder, and that bastard never paid for what it did to me. To my city. To my _family_."

Clark shakes his head as if he could clear it. "And then he was elected President, which I still can't wrap my head around. Too much faith in the public _not_ to vote for him, I guess."

"It's that endless optimism," Bruce says, laying a hand against his face. "And unfaltering belief in people, that makes you who you are, Clark."

"Truth, Justice and the American Way," he says with a fake smile and an eye roll.

"Exactly that." Bruce favors him with a hint of a smile. "For all its flaws, American democracy _does_ work. The freedom of choice is one of the most precious gifts the people have."

"I know, but I also know in my heart that choice was _wrong_. Luthor should never have become President."

"Article one of the Constitution is there for a reason."

Clark snorts. "Except that exactly zero sitting presidents have actually been removed from office."

"Nixon would have been if he hadn't resigned," Bruce counters. "We just need to give Congress a reason to unite."

"That, and irrefutable proof, ideally in the form of a confession, as long as we're at it," Clark quips, and gently touches down in front of the lab.

He lingers a few beats more than needed with Bruce in his arms, taking comfort in the familiar weight against his chest. He deposits him on his feet, and in the moment of the motion, whispers tenderly, " _:Zhaolodh khahp rrup_." 

Bruce closes his eyes for the barest moment, takes one deep breath through his nose, and then says, "Please be careful."

.

Turning away Batman activates his comm. "Penny One, status report."

"Everyone is accounted for, and will recover."

"Please keep an eye on Superboy for any signs the radiation is affecting him.”

“Of course.”

"And they're to stay there until we get back and have a chat with them on what the purpose of _orders_ are," Batman adds.

"I shall ensure that they are here, even if I have to knock them again myself to do it," Alfred replies dryly. "Penny One out."

Superman stumbles a step and lifts a hand to his head. 

“Kal?” Bruce immediately reaches out, clasping Clark's shoulder firmly to stabilize hin. “Is it the kryptonite?” he asks, voice pitched low with concern.

“I… I think so.” 

Looking the uncharacteristically pale Kryptonian over, Bruce frowns. “The effects are only going to get worse the closer that asteroid gets.”

“Let’s just get this done,” Clark says with a blatantly forced smile.

The doors open, revealing Toyman, who indicates for them to follow. He talks while walking. "The problem is that the asteroid’s radioactive intensity will not only blow away any object launched at it, but it'll also stop Superman, Wonder Woman and anybody else who thinks they can move a planet by hand." 

Toyman motions to the viewing window, and the launch bay it overlooks. "So, the answer gentleman, is the composite Superman/Batman rocket ship!”

“Wow.” Clark eyes the massive robot, which is styled as Superman on the left and Batman on the right, with the symbol of the House of El over the bat sign emblazoned on the chest. 

“You just have a rocket lying around?”

“Well, it was a robot I built a few years ago, but I converted it from manual control and added the rocket, along with enough firepower in its fist to take out the moon,” he replies with a shrug. “Best I could do on short notice.”

Superman holds his hands up and assures him, “And we’re grateful.”

He turns to Batman, expecting his partner to express a similar sentiment, but the twist of the man's lips is contemplative instead of thankful. “Hnn. Impressive. But what will keep the robot from losing structural integrity prior to impact like Luthor's nukes did?”

With a huge grin, Toyman explains, “It's built with the one thing that can get close enough to the kryptonite radiation without melting, cracking or exploding. The alloy my grandfather created—Metallo!”

“We know a criminal by that name.”

“Corben’s body is made from it.” Toyman rocks on the balls of his feet and frowns. “The bastard scientist who created him stole the Metallo alloy from my family.”

“Do you know where—” Batman reflexively drops into a ready crouch as the alarm starts blaring and debris rains down from the ceiling.

.

Superman blinks at the sight of Lex Luthor, wearing a green and purple robotic suit of armor, dropping down through the newly created hole.

"Go." Batman motions Toyman to the control panel. 

“I knew I would find you here, Superman! That sanctimonious image fooled everyone except me, because I know evil, and _you are evil_." 

Clark feels like he should be standing in Hogwarts holding a wand having just cast riddikulus, given the absurdity of the armor, because how it could strike fear in anyone is beyond him. The image the thought conjures is so vivid that he can't help but laugh. 

Admittedly, not the best timing.

Luthor narrows his eyes, lifts his hand, and shoots a glowing green blast that sends Superman flying into a guardrail, where he crumples to the ground with a grunt.

“You come to this planet, and declare yourself the savior of mankind." Luthor walks over, lifts him from the floor by the neck, and lets loose another kryptonite infused energy charge. "It's time you died for your sins.”

Superman convulses in pain.

Batman throws a batarang equipped with a grapple line that’s secured to his belt, letting it loop around the large robotic arm before pulling it taunt. Planting his feet, he yanks with enough force to make Luthor drop Superman. 

“Pathetic.” Luthor grabs the line in one hand, and with a flick of his wrist, snaps it like a whip. Batman releases the catch on his belt as he’s launched into the air, and unable to correct in time, slams against a wall of cabinets, causing them to come crashing down, the impact knocking him unconscious. 

At the sight of Bruce lying limp under the debris, Clark throws a punch, only to have it be caught and his hand painfully twisted, before a counterpunch sends him flying once more.

“Hiro Okamura," Luthor snarls. "The only _other_ person smart enough to stop that asteroid.”

“ _Only_ person, you mean. Your attempt failed, remember.”

Luthor blasts the terminal Toyman is sitting in front of.

"Now how am I going to control my rocket?" he whines.

"You're not," Luthor informs him with a bark of laughter.

.

Batman shifts his focus from the pair, to that of Superman struggling to his feet. He makes himself ignore everything in him that wants to go to his partner. Instead, he heads up the stairs toward the door to the launch bay.

"B, wait! What're you doing?"

"Flying this thing myself."

Bruce subscribes to the adage that actions speak louder than words. If he's honest, that's really just another mask. Pointlessly worn to protect his heart from the one man on the planet who truly cherishes it and could never even conceive of breaking it. 

Of breaking _him_. 

No, instead it's he who will shatter Clark's heart, as surely as if he'd punched his fist into a priceless stained glass window. He knows the pieces can never be put back together. 

That's a price he will gladly pay, if it means the world's salvation. If it means Clark's life, and their children's lives.

" _No_!" Clark cries, his hand outstretched in what can only be a hopeless bid to prevent Bruce from carrying out his plan.

He's always known he was a selfish bastard. Showcased so vividly, as with the world quite possibly about to end, and knowing Clark expresses love in words, Bruce still didn't say _I love you_. 

He should have. 

Because he _does_ love Clark, with every fiber of his being. And maybe it’s a bit melodramatic, considering he's walking to his death, but Bruce _needs_ Clark to hear it, and know without question that it's _true_ . Meeting those beautiful blue eyes for what he knows is the last time, he says, " _:Zhaolodh khahp rrup_."

.

Clark tries to stumble forward, intent on stopping the launch, but the catwalk he's standing on pitches as Luthor lands on it. He catches himself in time to watch the door close behind Bruce. 

With an anguished roar, he tackles Luthor. "I. Should. Have. Killed. You." Superman's fists pound against the armor's shielding, punctuating each word. 

The rocket's engines engage. 

"That was my best friend and _you_ just killed him," he says with a snarl as he grabs Luthor by the shoulders and hefts him up. Holding tight, Superman spins them both before letting go, sending the other man careening through the roof. 

With the impact having caused total shield failure, Luthor engages the jets in his suit, angles away from Japan, and Superman, all the while continuing his trademark monologuing. "Theodore Roosevelt said it best—‘speak softly and carry a big stick’! I wear that stick! Tailored for me expressly in the fire pits of Apokolips.”

Clark gives chase. The combination of kryptonite radiation, and the barrage of weapon blasts are taking a toll, slowing him considerably.

"You're allied with Darkseid?!" That explains the wormhole mystery. He shouldn't be surprised anymore by the lengths the man will go to just to destroy him, yet he is shocked by this revelation. Burning with rage, he unleashes his heat vision against Luthor's hulking armor. 

“Do you just play naïve, or are you _really_ that stupid? Darkseid has _always_ been my ally. The technology he provided is what allowed me to position the U.S. leagues ahead of the rest of the world.”

Luthor twists and shoots a kryptonite energy beam. “It was Darkseid who alerted me to the asteroid, its origins, and how it's drawn to you.”

“You really _are_ delusional, Luthor. You’re talking about an inanimate object!” Superman responds incredulously. Finally catching up, he lands a solid blow, shattering numerous pieces of armor. 

With Metropolis on the horizon, Luthor taunts, “If there's one common emotion all humans share, it’s fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of what they cannot control. And look how ready they are to believe that _you_ are that thing they fear the most.”

"What was your plan when you realized you couldn't stop it?" He tussles with Luthor midair and rips the thrusters apart. Only his goodwill and steel grasp prevents him from becoming a crater on the ground. "Boom Tube out and leave what remained of Earth to Darkseid?"

Looking up from where he dangles, Luthor snarls, "This is all your fault, _alien_." 

“It's over, Luthor. Because of Batman's sacrifice, that asteroid will _never_ reach Earth.”

Superman lets go, taking immense satisfaction in watching Luthor flail helplessly as he falls. 

"You... you can’t do this!" he exclaims. "I'm the president!" 

“Consider yourself impeached,” Superman says, then drops down and punches him, sending Luthor crashing through one building and into the next. 

The asteroid explodes in a bright green flare that lights the night sky with a brilliant splendor. Clark's sure his heart must be next, as grief courses through him like blood. 

"Bruce…" He closes his eyes. Tears streak down his face, dripping off his chin to fall against the shield on his chest. Clark knows the people below must still be cheering and shouting for joy, but he can't hear it over the sound of his own scream, desperate and primal.

_____________________________

Luthor sits on the floor where he landed and sheds the broken pieces of his armor. Looking around the building, he frowns. 

“Seem familiar?” Batman asks as he steps out of the shadows. “This is LexCorp.”

“No. That’s not possible.” He staggers to his feet, spinning in a circle to take in the empty space. 

“Where are they all?!” 

“Gone. Talia Head, your trusted C.E.O., sold off all your assets, and depleted all your resources.” Bruce stalks forward, and adds with no small amount of satisfaction, “You're _penniless_ , Luthor. As of this morning, Bruce Wayne owns this property, and he wants you out of the building.”

“I am the President!”

“Yes, and you’ve been hiding behind that fact for far too long. Now you’re about to be the first American President to go to prison.” 

“Because some _freak_ dressed as a bat, and the _alien_ say so?” Luthor sneers.

Batman flashes a grin. “No, because everything you just told Superman about Darkseid, and the asteroid—all your lies—were broadcast so the whole world can see you for who you _truly_ are.”

Luthor lunges forward, his fist connecting with Batman’s jaw. “You remember Bane, don’t you? How he broke your back?” With a smirk, he circles the vigilante like a shark when there's blood in the water.

“It was so easy for me to reverse engineer the venom that gave him his strength, so I could synthesize it. I then improved it by mixing in liquid kryptonite.”

“History isn’t kind to men who play God, Luthor.”

“I’ve been injecting myself since the campaign.”

Venom at best makes sane man irrational, which almost explains his behavior. 

Almost. 

“Shouldn’t you be out solving the crime of the century? Who killed Thomas and Martha Wayne?” Luthor goads with a laugh. “Where is John Corben, Batman?”

In a rage, he kicks Luthor, sending him crashing through a window. “How do you know about Corben? What do you know about who murdered the Waynes?” Bruce demands through clenched teeth, looking down at Luthor, who clings precariously to the window ledge by one hand.

“Pull me up! I’ll tell you everything.”

“No deals.” He reaches out a hand. “I’ll save your life, if just to see you rot in jail for the rest of it.”

“I don’t think so,” Luthor says, and lets go.

Batman grabs the window frame when a massive boom and flash of light suddenly erupt out of the building. Drawing his grapple gun, he fires the line, and swings out of range of the immediate fallout, before landing with a pained grunt on a rooftop. 

Tapping his comm, he finds it still unresponsive, not that he honestly expected otherwise, but he's sore and tired and _done_. 

Done with Lex Luthor. 

Done with preventing the apocalypse. _Again_.

Done being The Goddamned Batman—at least for the night. So he subvocalizes, allowing for his true voice, and says, "Kal-El."

.

Clark's landing almost before he finishes processing the desire to move. “Bruce…” he breathes out, convinced the kryptonite must be making him hallucinate. 

That doesn't stop him from surging forward and mashing their lips together, tongue pushing in, tasting, devouring, claiming. He holds Bruce so tight that it’s a wonder ribs aren't breaking. “Mmph.”

Clark lets out a broken noise and breaks away. “You’re alive…you're alive,” he repeats, his voice hitching until it’s hardly more than a whisper. It’s barely a statement, barely a question.

“Yes,” he agrees.

“Are you hurt?” 

"Would it matter if I said no?"

"Not in the least," he replies with a grin, before carefully looking Bruce over for injuries with his x-ray vision.

“Batman!” Wonder Woman cries out, delight evident in her voice, and lands gracefully on the roof. “Thank the gods, I thought you dead.”

“Hnn. No. Just a broken comm. I wasn't on the floor that exploded."

Superman grins, taps his comm, and replies to the voice in his ear. “Yes, Penny One, he’s standing next to me.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Bruce gripes.

“We’ll be back soon. Superman out.”

“If everyone could focus.” Batman glances at the two supers. “LexCorp towers are coming down.” 

“Flash already cleared a five-block radius,” Wonder Woman assures him.

“Good.” Superman nods his approval. “See if Lantern can put up a construct to help keep the remaining damage to a minimum.”

"Tell him to be mindful of the smoke. Chemicals are being released into the air along with it," Batman adds. "And I want all first responders in respirators. Tell them Wayne Enterprises owns the towers as of this morning and will be covering the cost."

“I am sorry the League could not openly help you before,” she says after relaying the message.

“The transport to Japan was appreciated.”

“You mean the malfunction that caused the teleporter to activate for no reason?” Wonder Woman clarifies before pursing her lips in an enigmatic smile.

“Make sure you put in a service request,” Batman deadpans.

“Go, my friends.” She makes a shooing motion. “We can handle this. You two have done more than enough this night.”

Needing no further prompting, Clark picks Bruce up in a bridal carry and, without asking for his opinion on the matter, launches into the air.

_____________________________

Clark follows behind Bruce as he makes his way from the Batcave to their bedroom. Even after all this time, the amazing shades Bruce's body turns, especially when the bruises are on top of bruises, never ceases to worry him. Conversely, he's also still more than a little amazed by the things his partner does with no superhuman abilities.

"Then throwing Luthor into his own tower so I could have the pleasure of telling him he was bankrupt and Bruce Wayne owned his company wasn't an act of poetic justice?" Bruce asks as he steps into the bathroom, and rummages through the medicine cabinet.

"Wish I could say it was, but honestly, it was dumb luck. I just wanted him away from me before I lost control and killed him."

"Yet you came to the roof?" he says, pills now in hand.

"Listening for you to call for me has become second nature," Clark replies, and holds out a glass of water. "I don't even consciously do it anymore. It's as natural as breathing."

Bruce takes the glass and downs the meds. He finishes the water before moving away from the counter to face Clark.

"I thought I had lost you, _:zhaote._ " Clark says softly, running his fingers over his face, brushing a curl of hair behind his ear, before placing his hand against his cheek. "I…I thought I was going to have to come home and tell Alfred, tell the kids, that you had died."

"I'm so sorry, Kal." Bruce turns into the touch and kisses his palm. “ _:Zhalishodh khahp.”_

"Why did you…" 

"Because if one of us had to die, it couldn't be you." Bruce puts a hand to the back of his neck and tips their foreheads together. "Never you."

"Bruce, I _need_ …"

Taking a half step forward, he presses their erections together. " _Take_ what you need, Kal." 

There's a tightness to Bruce's voice that only serves to intensify the ache in Clark’s groin. Normally, he wouldn't use his powers for this, preferring to watch Bruce undress, but tonight isn't a normal night. In a breath, he has them both naked on the bed and Bruce on his back. 

Licking his lips at the sight of Bruce's thick, gorgeous cock resting against his sculpted abs, Clark straddles his waist, and plants his knees, feet going back to hook under Bruce’s powerful thighs. Lube already in hand, he snaps the cap open, pours some onto his palm, and tosses the bottle aside.

"I want to come on your cock." 

“Christ.” 

He slicks Bruce's cock, then guides the tip between his cheeks to his fluttering hole, watching Bruce—whose pupils are blown wide, leaving only the barest sliver of blue—as he does. He presses the cockhead past his rim, savoring each magnificent inch as it slides into his tight passage. By the time he's fully seated on Bruce's pelvis, his ass is full, hot, and deliciously stretched. "Yes, Rao, yes.”

Clark places a hand on either side of Bruce’s head, leans down, and brushes his lips against that beautiful mouth. “Fuck me, Bruce.” He exhales a sob that feels as if its been ripped from his very soul, and trembling, pleads, “Please. I _need_ you to fuck me.” 

“Kal...you feel _so_ good. So tight for me.” Bruce digs his heels into the bed, grabs Clark's hips and thrusts. The wet sound of Bruce shoving in and out of his ass, again and again and again, only serves to intensify his desire.

He stretches his thighs wider apart, frantic to get the significant length and girth of Bruce’s cock deeper. “Yeah, Bruce. Give it to me,” Clark murmurs against his neck as Bruce grabs his ass, holding him firmly in place, and pummels into him even harder. 

“Just. Like. _That_."

Clark knows how hungry he sounds, but it doesn’t matter, because _Bruce is alive_. 

Letting himself rest against Bruce’s chest, he readjusts so that his hands grip broad shoulders, fingers pressing against old scars, as Bruce vigorously fucks his ass. “There...gah...don't stop." Each thrust nails his prostate. 

“Fuck. Bruce, I’m…." He wants to hold out, to prolong the feeling of Bruce inside of him. To hold on to the proof Bruce is there _with_ _him_. That this _isn’t_ just some desperate fantasy. 

Clark comes untouched.

He keens as his cock pulses and spurts long pearly ribbons over Bruce’s scarred chest. It seems that, apparently, a side effect of being fucked by Bruce after thinking he’d never be again, is coming _harder_ than he _ever has_ in his life.

Confident Bruce is on the teetering precipice of his own orgasm, he grinds down hard, the muscles of his hole spasming around Bruce’s cock, milking him. 

"Kal!" With a final penetrating thrust up, Bruce buries his cock to the hilt in Clark's ass and comes. Hips rolling at a languid pace, Bruce rides his orgasm out.

Clark gets up with reluctance when Bruce's cock starts to soften inside him. He's unable to prevent the shudders of need that run through his body when the fat cockhead pops out of his not-quite-loose-enough ring of muscle. 

A moan bubbles forth as he feels the warm rivulets of Bruce's come trickle down his quivering thighs. He swipes a finger through it, which he then licks clean, before he meets Bruce's half-hooded eyes and declares, " _Mine_." 

. 

"Yours."

The room is thick with the smell of sex, and Bruce feels like he is drowning in it. When Clark flips him over onto his stomach, part of his brain protests, demanding he move his boneless body. The other half knows better. Curling his torso slightly to the side, he glares at Clark, struggling weakly without any real intention of getting away. "Not all of us lack a refractory period.” 

“You’re so sexy that I’d get hard again even without my Kryptonian stamina,” Clark cooes, and it’s a sheer injustice of the universe that Clark can say something so ridiculously cheesy with a straight face—and mean it.

“Damn it,” he growls. “I can’t get hard again so soon.”

“I say you _can_.” 

Bruce’s treacherous cock has other ideas and gives a twitch of interest at the commanding tone he's come to recognize as the voice Clark uses when in “Superman mode.” Normally he’d be _all in_ , but near constant fighting has done his endurance no favors.

Any pretense of escape vanishes when Clark grabs him by the hips and drags him to his knees, ass in the air. He has a feeling Clark is going to make him pay for scaring him so badly, which only serves to turn him on even _more_. Clark sinks down to the bed, using broad shoulders to nudge Bruce’s thighs apart, and then slides his arms under Bruce’s hip before wrapping them up and over to grab his ass. 

The view he's afforded of Clark spreading his cheeks sends a bolt of electricity down his spine and a tremble through his limbs. Bruce makes a strangled noise when Clark runs his sinful tongue along the rim of his hole and his sensitive perineum, before laving over it with the flat of his tongue. 

Bruce fists his hands into the sheets, pushes back, and shamelessly undulates his hips against Clark’s face. He mews as Clark's tongue presses into his hole, lapping, sucking and teasing, slowly going deeper inside. The wet sound of licking brings Bruce's cock to full hardness. _Shit_. 

He’s never going to hear the end of it.

He may as well be putty in Clark’s hands—certainly, no other could so completely pull him apart, only to then reshape him again. Not that he'd ever let anyone else try.

“Oh, _fuck_. Kal!” 

Bruce cries out in a mix of surprise and ecstasy when Clark drives two lubed fingers into his ass, and begins working them in and out, opening the ring of muscle to take Clark's substantial cock. He lets out shaky breaths and bitten-off curses as he lets himself get lost until nothing exists outside of Clark fucking him with his agile tongue and talented fingers.

He gasps and jerks his hips forward when Clark's fingers curl up against his prostate, driving his leaking cock against the bed as he comes.

.

“See, I told you so.” Clark grins in satisfaction and pulls his fingers from Bruce’s ass with an obscene squelching. Then lining up to the slick entrance, Clark pushes forward, not slowing, not stopping, just sliding all the way into Bruce’s ass in a long, smooth motion that opens Bruce up on his cock.

"Fuck, _Bruce_ ," he breathes as he starts moving —the curse seems half prayer, half benediction. Bruce's passage is hot, slick and tight around his cock. His enhanced senses make sure he perceives everything tenfold in detail. He gives two thrusts before he's coming in long waves of hazy pleasure deep inside Bruce, flooding the tight cavity. 

Without breaking contact, Clark turns them both on their sides, pressing his chest flat against the line of Bruce's sweating, heaving back. He rolls his hips, making small gentle push-pulls. 

"People really have...mnh...no idea what you're capable of."

Tipping Bruce’s head to the side, he kisses him tenderly and then separates enough to speak, but still so close that they’re breathing the same air. "I was so _scared_."

" _I'm here_ , Kal.” Bruce reaches back and runs his fingers through soft curls.

“I _can't_ live without you, _:zhaote_." He presses his face into the curve of Bruce's neck and shoulder.

“I'm not going anywhere.” 

He brushes his lips against Bruce’s sweat-slick temple, whispering, " _Nanh kryp im chahv zhor_." And then places a hand over Bruce's heart, which beats as steady as a metronome.. "We are of one heart." 

Clark's chest constricts, and tears well up in his eyes from the depth of what he can't put into words. It's almost unbearable. 

"So you see, Bruce," Clark continues, punctuating his words with a forceful thrust, "your life isn't yours to give away." He pulls out and then shoves in again.

" _Kal_!"

Bruce’s ass rocks against his pelvis, quick little jerks as Clark grinds his hips slow and hard. He can feel Bruce clench around his cock in irritation as he blatantly ignores Bruce’s attempts to increase the pace.

"Tell me what you _want_ , Bruce."

“Hnh. For you to move _faster_." 

With a laugh, Clark adjusts them so his legs are splayed, knees up against the inside of Bruce’s knees. He licks his lips at the sight of Bruce pushing up to his hands and spreading his legs open as wide as possible, cock dripping precome between scarred thighs.

He grabs Bruce's hips with bruising strength and impales himself in Bruce over and over again. The feeling of Bruce’s body, warm and _alive_ and squeezing his cock, combined with the sound of Bruce moaning his name and gasping obscenities is _everything_.

Clark bends his knee, planting his foot on bed, and pulls nearly all the way out before thrusting his cock back in to the root. Bruce pushing his ass back to meet Clark's thrusts, while moaning with raw _need_ immediately sends more blood rushing to his cock, getting him impossibly, painfully harder. 

.

Bruce revels in the sensation of being claimed so thoroughly. “Yes...ungh….Kal!” Clark seems to gets impossibly deep with each successive thrust, nearly forcing the air out of his lungs. 

Adjusting the angle, Clark starts ramming the head of his cock squarely up against his prostate. The bastard probably cheats and uses his x-ray vision, Bruce decides with a shudder as he thrusts his hips back. 

Bruce feels like his entire being has been twisted into a Gordian knot, but then Clark's always there with his sword to release it. He nearly wails when Clark's cock vibrates inside his ass, stimulating his prostate in a way no human ever could. It has him seeing stars, and his vision blurs.

"There, _fuck_ —" Bruce loses his ability to form words and lets out a sound that's halfway between a moan and a scream, his throat raw, mouth dry as he gasps for air.

Bruce manages to snake a hand under himself and grab his painfully hard cock. Finding it's still slick from a combination of lube and his own come, he desperately pumps. His face flushes with heat. His breath comes quicker, and his heart beats faster.

“Kal…” His cock pulses and he comes, messy and hot, covering his hand and dripping on the sheets. Bruce furrows his brow and squeezes his eyes shut. His body spasms, bearing down, the muscles of his hole contracting rhythmically around Clark’s cock, clinging and squeezing tight.

“You want more of my come inside of you, Bruce? Want me to fill you up?” Clark murmurs, his voice low and rich.

"Yes! _Claim me_ , Kal,” he sobs. “I'm yours. Only yours." The _I love you_ goes unspoken, but is heard just the same.

"Fucking hell." Clark’s thrusts become sloppy and he groans, the remnants of his control leaking away. With one last deep penetration, Clark comes. 

Bruce groans when Clark pulls out with a wet pop, the motion causing come to leak from his hole. "Hnh." Scooting closer when Clark flops down on his back, Bruce uses his chest as a pillow. 

"I think you fucked me to death."

"That's going to make for one really interesting obituary," Clark replies with a laugh, for which Bruce unceremoniously smacks him in the face with a pillow.

_____________________________

“Master Bruce,” Alfred greets him as he hands him his coffee. 

Stepping into the kitchen with a yawn, Bruce gladly accepts the steaming mug of caffeine.

Clark sits down at the table, flashing a grin at Alfred when he sets a fresh stack of pancakes down in front of him. “Thanks!”

“Of course, Master Clark.”

Beaming, Cass holds up the morning edition of _The Daily Planet_ , and taps the front-page headlines: 

**_Superman exonerated.  
Asteroid disaster averted! _ **

“So, spill,” Tim says. “How did you do it?”

Dick nods. “And don’t leave out how you didn’t die.”

“Master Richard,” Alfred chides.

“I mean, thank God you didn’t die,” he amends. “But, we all heard the broadcast.”

Bruce rolls his eyes and settles down into his own seat at the table. 

“I thought he had," Clark says sheepishly. "It turned out there was a bit of a communication problem.” 

“Really, it was my fault,” Bruce admits. 

"My. Master Bruce admitting to wrongdoing? Are we sure the world is not still ending?" Alfred says dryly.

Cass muffles a laugh behind her hand.

He ignores them.“I asked Oracle to tap Clark’s comm’s audio feed and broadcast it to make sure that Luthor couldn’t talk his way out of the truth.”

“Which also meant no one could talk _to_ Clark,” Tim surmises.

"Sure, fine, that makes sense." Dick jabs at Clark with his fork, putting his eggs in very real jeopardy. "That still doesn't explain why you thought Bruce was dead in the first place.”

“Probably because I left to pilot the robot manually after Luthor destroyed the controls,” Bruce intones.

"Yeah, that would do it," he agrees, and finishes his bite of eggs.

Cass frowns and tugs on Bruce's sleeve.

"Who piloted?" she asks him.

"That is a good question," Tim adds in support.

"Captain Atom."

"Wait. What?" Clark turns his attention away from breakfast. "But… he died in Tokyo?"

"Clark, just how many people that you thought dead in the last twenty-four hours are going to show up saying that reports of their untimely deaths have been greatly exaggerated?" Dick asks. "Ow!" he hisses, rubbing his arm where Cass has just punched him.

Bruce shoots his oldest a look over his coffee cup. 

"Is it related to the visit from the presumed future version of Superman?" Alfred inquires, setting a plate of fruit down.

"Yes, but I don't think in the way he intended. I did go in there expecting to die," Bruce replies. "But before I could get that far, Captain Atom appeared. Turns out the energy he took from Major Force while we were in Tokyo caused him to make a quantum leap in time." 

"Exactly to where future Supes was? That's awfully convenient." Dick scowls.

"I considered it, but he told me the same story about the asteroid killing everyone as future Superman did, and we hadn't told anyone those details. Captain Atom understood that destroying the asteroid wouldn't prevent an extinction-level event from the kryptonite radiation that remained in the atmosphere." 

Bruce takes another swallow of coffee before continuing. "I had S.T.A.R Labs immediately start working on that very issue, in cooperation with Wayne Biotech, as practically speaking, no one else on the planet has had unrestricted access to kryptonite, or done that level of meaningful research."

"Goodness. Are you saying the radiation can affect not only Kryptonians, but humans and metas too?" Alfred asks.

"In theory, and at those quantities, yes. Luthor was able to inject liquid kryptonite to augment himself. Of course, the process also drove him clinically insane."

Dick arches his brows. "So the lab jackets think radiation exposure could duplicate that, even without the serum?"

"The problem is we don't know, and even _if_ we did, the only prevention we know is lead."

Clark closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. "He absorbed it, didn't he?" 

"Yes," Bruce acknowledges. "Captain Atom knew if it _could_ affect us, that there wasn't enough lead on the planet..."

Tim taps a finger against the side of his glass. Thinking aloud, he says, "Even if the radiation from the core of the asteroid was absorbed, kryptonite is a transuranium element that decays to iron and doesn't chemically react with oxygen."

Cass raises her hand in the air, as a student waiting to ask a question.

Tim smiles at her. "Basically, any remaining chunks from the asteroid will now be kryptonite meteors that won't burn up when entering Earth's atmosphere."

"That's bad?" Conner asks, uncertainty clear in his tone.

Clark reaches over and squeezes his shoulder in an attempt to soothe. "For you and me, yes. All we need are people easily getting ahold of something that can badly hurt or even kill us. They wouldn't even need to have malicious intent—just a lack of understanding and the wrong circumstances could be lethal." 

"Wayne Enterprises will purchase any on the market, and the League's hunting down debris too," Bruce says. "So you don't need to worry. It'll never be an issue."

"Indeed, Master Conner. We're a family, and families protect each other," Alfred states with a force of conviction to his voice that leaves no room for doubt.

Dick nods in agreement. "That's right, little brother. And, hey, at least Luthor isn't around to weaponize it."

“And what about Luthor?” Tim asks. "Is he really dead?"

“Depends on if Darkseid activated the Boom Tube as punishment, or to help him escape." Bruce shrugs. "The blast blew out the bottom floors, which is what brought the building down."

"Forty stories of lead-lined rubble." Clark shakes his head. "Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to find him in all that, no matter how hard I tried."

“He brought this on himself, _ukr_ ,” Conner says.

Bruce glances around the table at his kids, shifting gears. "Don't think I’ve forgotten that you are all still trouble for that little stunt at the White House."

"We were just trying to help." 

Pride is evident in Clark's smile. "We know that, Tim."

"I told you to _protect Gotham_."

"Yes," Dick agrees. "You also didn't say that was _all_ we could do."

"Really? That's the card you're going to play?"

Leaning back in his chair, Dick crosses his arms over his chest. "What are you going to do? Ground me?"

"No. We both know that would never work." Looking like the cat that ate the canary, Bruce releases his attack. "So, no. I'm just going to have Alfred stop buying you cereal."

"You wouldn't!"

"Try me."

Looking visibly shaken, Dick gestures wildly with his hands and declares in a huff, " _This_ is why Clark is the cool dad."

"And here I always thought it was because of the Batman pajamas," Bruce deadpans.

Clark chokes on his orange juice.

_____________________________

_Daily Planet :  
**President Luthor presumed dead  
Funeral services in Metropolis **  
Lois Lane _

*

_Daily Planet :  
**V.P. Pete Ross becomes President  
Says “This country will endure”**  
Lois Lane _

*

_Daily Planet :  
**Luthor indicted in absentia  
Top cabinet members jailed**  
Clark Kent _

_____________________________

Clark purposefully makes noise as he walks. He always does whenever he enters the cave and finds Bruce deep in thought. It only took being the target of a flurry of batarangs once to learn that sneaking up on Bruce-—not that he had been—is unwise. Clark waits until Bruce acknowledges him with a slight tip of his head, and returns his attention to the giant penny mounted in front of him, before moving closer. 

"Some of your trophies I'm not so sure about," Clark says. "This, however, I like."

"Hmh. What's wrong with them?"

"Seriously, Bruce? You have the shroud of the _Vampire_ Monk on display."

He snorts. "What would you rather have?"

"Dinosaur bones would be cool."

Bruce arches a brow. "The cave isn't _that_ big."

"I'm not asking for a T-Rex. Maybe a pterodactyl? You could hang it from the ceiling. The bats could sleep on it."

"Funny." He rolls his eyes. "Besides, where the hell would I get one?"

Clark shrugs. "You _are_ a billionaire."

"The point is these are things Batman has, _not_ Bruce Wayne."

"Fine."

"If you want to see fossils, Clark, I can always buy you a museum," Bruce offers with a grin.

Clark gives a long-suffering look up at the bats, before replying, "How about we just visit one instead."

"Private showing."

"Because _that_ certainly won't draw any attention from the press." Clark holds up his hands, framing in imaginary text. "'Bruce Wayne buys out museum for a mystery date!'"

"You're insufferable."

"You mean I'm right."

"Same thing."

Clark shuffles in and wraps his arms around Bruce's waist. "So, why exactly _are_ we looking at the penny? Did Two-Face escape again?"

"No," he says with a shake of his head. "I was thinking about luck, chance, destiny, whatever you want to call it."

"Is this about Corben?"

"Yes. I knew, given that Luthor taunted me about him, and his supposed link to my parents' murder, that his name was most likely planted to distract me. Oracle just confirmed it." Bruce gives a deep sigh. "Luthor didn’t _need_ to know I'm Batman, just that Batman will _not_ rest until that crime is solved."

"Luthor failed to consider that Batman would put aside that case to help Superman. Actually, it probably wouldn't even cross his mind as a possibility. I highly doubt he's known friendship or love."

"I... want it to _mean_ something, Clark. I _need_ it to mean more than a flip of a coin. Chance _can't_ be why your ship crashed in the Kents' field and not communist Russia. No more than their murder can be just them being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Clark pulls him back tight against his chest.

"Not knowing the identity of my parents’ killer haunts me, Clark. Just like not knowing that Luthor is truly dead keeps you up at night."

“Through all our struggles, his unending hatred of me motivated so much of his life,” Clark says with a scowl. "And if he returns, he’ll be more dangerous than ever, a man with nothing to lose."

Bruce turns away from the penny to look at Clark. "Luthor is disgraced and destitute, no better than a common criminal. But I promise you, Clark, if he returns, we’ll take him down again. And again, if we have to. As many times as it takes, until he _stays_ down."

He smiles and his heart beats a little faster. The assurance makes Clark hope that, for the first time since being declared public enemies, both of the World's Finest will sleep soundly tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Holdt for helping with my Kryptonian!
> 
> The next two parts are fake magazine covers I created for the fallout of this story.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! All comments and kudos are appreciated <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[ART] PEOPLE Magazine - Public Enemies (ch 3)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22273390) by [serephent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serephent/pseuds/serephent)
  * [[ART] TIME Magazine - Public Enemies (ch 3)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22273312) by [serephent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serephent/pseuds/serephent)




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